


Home Again, Home Again

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By MJ.A few nights on the road and a remarkable afternoon at Bag End.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1
Collections: Least Expected





	Home Again, Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs. I have merely borrowed them for these adventures and will never make a cent from them.  
> Feedback: Would be wonderful!  
> Story Notes: This story follows ['My Old Dad Says'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322520).

"Oh, it's beautiful, it is." The stiff breeze snatched up Sam's words, scattering them in all directions, but he only laughed, his face alight in the late afternoon sun. "Isn't it wonderful? And isn't it just the very best place to live?" 

They were standing on the highest point north of Hobbiton, but still some twenty miles away from that fair town. Below them lay the Shire, spread before their eyes in all of its Autumn glory. Even this far away, they could count the patchwork squares of green and gold, where the late harvest stood ready for the scythes, racks and wagons. In between each patch ran the deeper greens of borders and hedges, with every now and then a copse of multi-hued foliage raising heady colors in celebration of the cold weather to come. Far in the distance, just on the edge of sight, shone a glint from the Bywater, lazing its way toward a rendezvous with the Brandywine, while closer than those chilly waters, yet distant enough to appear out of reach, rose the thin whisps of chimney smoke that marked the town of Hobbiton. And sewing it all together, like little brown threads from the Maker's loom, were the roads and byways that not only led the walker from door to door of friend and family, but also carried in their quiet dust the knowledge of faroff places, where a pair of eager feet might journey to see what adventures the rest of the world had to offer. 

Frodo took a deep breath and held it a moment before puffing it out all at once. "Yes! Yes, it is. The most wonderful place ever. And as for you..." He squeezed Sam's hand and raised it to his lips, planting a sound kiss upon the weathered skin. "You are the most wonderful hobbit ever. And I shall love you beyond the remaking of the world." 

Sam grinned, his cheeks going a shade pinker than the stiff breeze had already made them. "Old Mrs. Bracegirdle might say as how you don't know what you're sayin'. Considerin' she thinks my brain is addled, all because I never would pull up her turnips." He reached for Frodo's other hand and pulled him close enough to tickle the soft hair around his ear as he whispered, "And I never could get her to understand she'd never planted them turnips." 

A burst of laughter left Frodo gasping, but he grabbed Sam and squeeze him as hard as he could. "Oh, Sam. My dear Sam...!" 

And then they both overbalanced and with a 'thump', went rolling end over end back down the other side of the steep hill, laughing all the way to the bottom, where they came to a gentle stop at the base of two elderly pines. 

Frodo quickly pulled himself up to straddle Sam's waist. "You'd better be prepared to treat Mrs. Bracegirdle with more respect than that, Samwise Gamgee! I should make her the guest of honor at our party and the whole notion of turnips would cause no end of trouble." He saw the tiny frown appear on Sam's brow and stopped, saying in a softer voice, "But if you really don't care for Mrs. Bracegirdle..." 

"No, it's not that." Sam thought for a moment, still frowning. "It's just... I've been thinkin'. About that party..." 

Frodo smiled. "If you don't like the idea, just say so." 

"I know. But you... But I..." Frodo's eyes were the blue of the Bywater Pool on a high summer day and Sam would have fallen in and drowned gladly. "When you talked about it, last night when we were..." A flush of red crept up his cheeks and he took a slow, deep breath. "Last night you seemed right pleased about havin' one. And I didn't want to say the wrong..." 

Leaning over quickly, Frodo stopped Sam's words with a kiss. "No. I don't believe you could _ever_ say the wrong thing." He looked at Sam for a long moment, then slowly sat up. "I love you. And I don't really need a party, because I have everything I need, right here..." He grinned. "...where I'm sitting. So, we shall tell the people that matter the most to us and let Mrs. Bracegirdle learn it from her turnips." 

Sam snorted. "She'll have to learn it from her radishes, then, 'cause I don't doubt she still hasn't planted them turnips since the _last_ time she didn't plant 'em." 

Then, as quick as only a hobbit can, Sam slipped his hands under Frodo's coat and flipped him over and soon, nothing but laughter could be heard on the late afternoon breeze. 

* * *

"Sam?" 

"Mmm." 

Frodo could almost count the stars, they shone so clear and bright. "Didn't you ever wish to have children?" 

Sam sighed and tucked his head under Frodo's chin. "I did at that. And if I'd loved a lass well enough to marry her, then I'd of had as many as we could fit into a tidy little hole. And maybe a shed." He yawned. "Or two." 

Frodo chuckled. "I would hope the lass had got a chance to breathe a little now and then or she'd be too exhausted to feed you!" 

"Then I could feed her. And I would, too, if we had that many pretty babies." 

"You would have the prettiest babies in the Shire." Frodo couldn't help but feel a stirring of sadness. "But not now." 

"Oh, I don't know." Sam raised up on one elbow. "You and I, we could make some really handsome babies, what with your fine looks and all. And don't you laugh..." He rolled until Frodo lay beneath him. "We've got most of the right parts, and places to put 'em, so we'll just keep practicin' and see what happens." 

"And I know that _you_ know better." Frodo's voice shook as he tried not to laugh. But the tips of Sam's fingers were making patterns on his thighs... "You've known since that day at Farmer Cotton's cow pasture..." And the tip of a warm, wet tongue was licking at the base of his throat... "...what goes where and why, at least to have babies." Frodo groaned softly, trembling beneath the body sprawled across his own. And Sam smelled sharp and sweet, all at the same time... 

"As for knowin'..." Sam wriggled a little and dropped one leg between Frodo's, pressing gently. "Well, I expect this here's one of those parts." He lifted himself for just a moment, then settled against Frodo's belly and whispered, "And this here's another. So if you'll just tell me again how it all goes, I'll be that pleased." 

Frodo gasped and buried his fingers in Sam's hair, pulling him down to tell him, all wrapped up in a kiss, what they would do for the rest of their lives and how much fun it would all be. And then both of them had so much to say that every blanket was scattered by the time they had talked it all over and the last delighted shout had spun away into the darkness. 

For a very long time, Frodo lay quietly with Sam asleep in his arms. Although it was late, he found that he was wide awake, his throat tight with unshed tears. When the chill crept into his bones, he stretched as far as he could to snag the nearest blanket and pull it snuggly around them both. His heart was filled to overflowing and he hardly knew how it could hold the unmeasurable joy his days and nights had become. The life he'd led until now seemed to belong to someone else. For although he had certainly been happy before and known both contentment and joy, many, many times in his life, this was the very first time he felt so filled up with light, from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. 

Smiling wryly, Frodo thought back to the many days and nights of loneliness he'd expected would always be his lot in life. He'd learned to keep his own company, along with the visits of his special young cousins. He'd even learned how to give his own body pleasure and it was enough. But now... Frodo swallowed the lump in his throat and smiled at the distant stars. Now the warm callused hands of a gentle gardener gave him all the pleasure he could handle. 

Branches rustled sharply overhead as a stiff breeze blew through the dell and Frodo pulled the blanket tighter. Even Sam seemed a little different in some ways. Maybe he would still fool those who'd known him all his life, with his same soft, careful voice and the same sweet, honest face. But Frodo knew better. This new Sam was no less than a startling wonderment. And as the days passed, Gaffer's youngest son shone with new strength and confidence, and his clear voice rang with bright, sudden laughter. 

Frodo closed his eyes and chuckled softly. And sometimes there was so much heat between them, he thought they might both burst into flames. 

Fluttering the tips of his fingers down Sam's back, Frodo breathed in the scent still lingering on the chill night air. Deep inside, he knew this was indeed the same young Gamgee who for years had dogged his heels and jollied his garden, who'd known the best places for blackberries and how to keep tea hot in a delicate, fragile cup. Exactly the same. And yet... Frodo touched the cluster of silken curls brushing against his lips. This new and wonderful Sam had a spring in his step that had only been hinted at before. And there was an edge in his voice that set Frodo's heart racing, whether they were comparing the various merits of turnips and rutabagas or confessing the many ways one could fall in love. The yawn caught Frodo by surprise and he shifted to press his face against the thick, damp curls. This was a Sam to be reckoned with and he tucked this discovery deep into his heart, holding it close as he drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

The last day of their journey was nearly over and here they came, up the road from Overhill, stepping merrily along with thoughts of a big lunch, a warm fire and a jolly bed filling their heads. Or rather, they filled Frodo's head... 

Sam's thoughts were a bit more muddled and as he walked, he kept his eyes straight ahead, planting one foot carefully in front of the other. His cheeks were hot and his voice shook a little as he said, "We'll have a mushroom and bacon omelot, half a loaf of toasted oatbread with marmalade, a dish of hot cinnamon apples swimming in fresh cream, and three pots of tea..." 

The Hill was just ahead, not a quarter of a mile away, blocking their sight with its huge, green magnificence. All they had to do was follow the path round the western side and they'd have a clear view of Bag End. 

Frodo grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him along a little faster. "No stopping now, lad. We're in sight of home so no dawdling allowed." 

Drawing in a sharp breath, Sam tried to settle the flutter in his stomach. "And for supper, I'll fix up somethin' special. Like squash and elderberry pudding and smothered chicken and maybe some new taters with butter and asparagus, and a bit of peach cobbler for after." They were rounding the bottom of The Hill now and it was all Sam could do to keep his feet moving. "I could mix up a vegetable stew in no time, with some fried crusts to top it off..." 

"Let's just get inside first, Sam, then we'll see what's for lunch, not to mention supper. And let's make that four pots of tea, two for each of us." Frodo could see the big green door now and his heart flipped suddenly in his chest. He was home. "And blueberries, Sam, lots and lots of blueberries." He lifted the latch on the front gate and pushed Sam through ahead of him. "Did you hear? We must have blueberries as well and four pots of... Sam?" 

Sam had come to an abrupt stop, mouth and eyes wide open. There it was, the front door. His front door. To go in and out of as he pleased. He drew in a deep, slow breath. And behind that door... "It's Bag End." 

Frodo looked at Sam in bewilderment. "Well, yes..." 

"Your own dear hole. Your garden and your path." Sam couldn't find enough breath. "Your windows. Your door. Your home..." His voice died away in a whisper and he tried to blink away the sudden tears. 

Frodo turned Sam to face him and then held out his hands, smiling as a warm, rough grip clasped his own. "This is your home, too, my dear, wonderful Sam. We shall spend all of our days together within this snug hole and eat and laugh and tell so many stories that it will be a wonder if we ever get to bed." 

Sam frowned, but his eyes were smiling as he gazed at Frodo. "I don't rightly know if that's the way of it, for if I don't miss my guess, it'll be a wonder if we ever get _out_ of bed." He finally grinned. "So to speak." 

Frodo laughed and shoved the big round door open. Slipping his own pack from his back, he tossed it into the hall. "Here we go, Master Samwise!" Nudging Sam through the door, Frodo pulled the pack from his back, then snatched him up in a hug so tight, he yelped. "I love you with all of my heart, dearest Sam. And I think..." Frodo hesitated, then his mouth curved wickedly. "...to celebrate our homecoming, and more specifically to celebrate your change of address, I shall give you a chance..." He pushed the door shut with one hand and grabbed Sam's jacket with the other. "...to be served breakfast in bed, starting from tomorrow. But we need the bedroom." He tugged a flustered Sam down the hallway. "And we need to take all of these useless clothes off..." 

Sam had no idea quite how it happened, but within two shakes of a beer tap, he was lying in Frodo's bed. He gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to hiccup. No, it was _his_ bed. His and Frodo's bed. The hiccup busted loose and he yelped, arching upward into the ten busy fingers tormenting his scattered wits and sending gooseberries rolling up his back. 

Frodo watched the changes flicker across Sam's face, then bent down to run his tongue up the sturdy length cradled in his hands, stopping to swirl it through the salty liquid pooled at the top. "Now, this is how it shall be..." A stolen glance showed him Sam's sweat-slicked face framed by three deep pillows "...I shall serve you breakfast in bed for a week, oatmeal with summer honey and cream, if you can say 'Sackville-Baggins' while I do this..." 

Frodo made a circle of his lips and took a deep breath. Trying not to grin, he slid his mouth slowly down the wet heat standing stiffly up in his fingers. He felt Sam tremble, then stiffen his entire body as he croaked, "Sack..." 

Frodo sucked hard and slowly pulled his tongue up the underside of his mouthful, chuckling around the silky length. 

"Sackvi..." Sam gave up on words, bleating something unrecognizable as he shivered against the covers. 

Crowing with laughter, Frodo sat back, still holding Sam firmly in his grip. Old Crookfoot had made exactly the same sound one day as he came barreling down the lane, feathers fluffed like thistledown, defending the rest of Farmer Cotton's flock of geese from the unwary intruder. 

"Oh, no, that won't do, Master Gamgee. You must try harder or no summer honey for you!" 

Sam gripped the blanket with both hands and shuddered. But "Right you are..." was all he managed to gasp before arching back up into the waiting fingers. 

Frodo shifted his grip, pulling the little cup of skin down firmly before lowering his tongue over the tip. He brushed it slowly back and forth several times before filling his mouth once again. 

"Sack... ville..." Sam forced the word out, then flipped one side of the blanket over his head, stuffed a fistful of the rough weave between his teeth, and bit down hard. Frodo was trying not to laugh and the novelty of the hum running through Sam's groin was almost more than he could bear. But he was a Gamgee and no Gamgee ever... Then Frodo did something wicked with his teeth and for a long moment, Sam forgot the rest of his name. 

"Summer honey, Sam love. And fresh cream. Mmmm." Frodo ran his lips down the underside of Sam's erection. Biting back a sneeze as soft curly hairs tickled his nose, he slipped one warm sack into his mouth and then the other. "Sam?" 

"Grnnh... Sa... Sam..." Damn... Summer honey. And cream... "Sack..., Sackville... Oh, FrodoFrodo... Bagnnr... Bagglerg..." Frodo's mouth was like hot summer honey. And cream... "Wait! No, not... Sag..., Sag..." The whirlpool gathering in Sam's belly drained right down through his back and he shouted, "Sackville-Baggins!" 

Sam jerked upwards with a shout and Frodo's mouth filled with hot, sweet/bitter liquid. For long seconds, he knelt with his forehead braced against Sam's belly, waiting as the shudders slowly subsided and Sam grew quiet. After one last lick for good measure, Frodo crawled carefully up to straddle Sam's waist, resting his hands on either side of the curly head nestled in the pillows. "Sam, please. I love the touch of your fingers far better than my own..." 

Sam smiled shyly and then, though his breath was mostly still gone, he began to chuckle. "Oh, I do love you best, Frodo Baggins. I do, I do." His mouth opened quickly to Frodo's sudden kiss and, snugging one arm around Frodo's neck, he sent his other hand unerringly to its goal, gripping the warm flesh already leaving trails of fluid across his own belly. "You move just as you wish, my dear... Your Sam's right here." A darting tongue filled Sam's mouth as Frodo drove himself into the clever caluses, gasping Sam's name between desperate kisses until finally, with a ragged groan, he buried his face in Sam's neck and let the rough-tipped fingers bring him slowly and gently back to his senses. 

* * *

"If you're a bit peckish, I could whip up a nice omelet..." 

"No. Not yet." Frodo smiled and wrapped his legs around the only shin he could reach. "I'm not leaving this bed for anything. You could promise me the Moon on a platter of stewed chicken and I'd not budge." Silence flowed comfortably through the room for several minutes. 

"I did it, didn't I. Summer honey and cream." 

Sam's whisper fluttered against Frodo's cheek and he laughed deep in his throat. "Oh, Sam. I never doubted you would. And if you couldn't..." Frodo stretched as well as he could, considering how tangled up with Sam his legs were. "...it would only have been fair to give you a second chance." 

Sam shook with silent laughter. "Now that I don't doubt, Frodo Baggins. You're a fair piece of work, you are." 

Frodo snorted softly, then kissed the tender skin on the chest beneath his hand. "I love you, Sam Gamgee. Welcome home." 

"Oh, I am home, aren't I." Sam sighed happily and flipped the blanket up and over them both. "We'll make it just fine, you and me. For I love you too much to have it any other way." 

And as those were the last words Frodo heard before falling asleep, his dreams were deep and bright and full of the kind of wonder usually experienced only by children and the greatest of the high flying eagles. 

But far away from Bag End, tucked up neatly on her well-stuffed mattress in the best and biggest bedroom, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins snorted sleepily and wondered where in the Shire that ridiculous nightmare had come from... 

End.


End file.
